Wayward Soldiers
by anonymous1222
Summary: Set in the fictional Brighton City, famous for its anti-super laws that ensure that no Super: mutant, extraterrestrial, or otherwise can ever make the city their home, high schooler Terry finds himself involved in something much deeper than simple discrimination, and must make a choice. To either continue following the status quo or to stand and fight for what he believes is right
1. Chapter 1

Wayward Soldiers

After nearly an hour of questioning the teenager handcuffed to the table across from him, Detective Mare, a forty-something year old man, slightly overweight, with short hair edging too close to gray for his liking dropped the young man's file on the table, "So the mask. the costume. Do you really think you can make a difference by becoming a vigilante? You're a smart kid, why not become a politician or join the police force. You could change so many things from within the system."

The boy sat up and looked toward the two-way mirror, "It was never about making a difference. Politicians promise to make the world a better place with their policies. Supervillains vow to cut people free from law and order, which they see as shackles. Groups like the avengers, and the X-Men swear to protect humanity so that peace can be maintained."

"And what's wrong with that?" the detective said with a smile, "Shouldn't people strive to change the world if they think something is wrong? Isn't that why you wore the mask in the first place?"

"The world changes too fast for anyone to control how it progresses," the boy looked the detective straight in the eye, "The best we can do is help each other the best we can."

The detective knew that look. That fierce stare of determination, yet so filled with hardship. He had seen it in the eyes of so many young vigilantes that would later become heroes, but too often had he also seen them in the eyes of future villains, so he asked the question that he had asked so many like-minded youngsters before, "And if you fail?"

The boy looked down at the handcuffs on his wrists and let out a deep sigh….

Chapter 1: A City of Their Own

The 3,000 students of Brighton High School had been called into the school's annual assembly to discuss superpowered beings in today's society. On stage the guest speaker lawyer and anti-super activist Donald Dodson, a towering man with a strong build a his black hair cut in a military style crew cut, was giving a heated speech about the dangers of mutants and the measures that needed to be taken to ensure "normal society's" safety, while his wife Delia, petite with a blonde bob cut, controlled a powerpoint presentation showing questionable acts carried out by superpowered heroes and villains alike.

"These things," Donald said with a calmness that gave his words an unsettling feeling, "are a menace to society. They don't feel the need to follow our laws, laws that have been put into place to protect you," he paused, letting his point sink in, before continuing, "mutant groups such as the X-Men have caused billions of dollars in destruction, and allow their members, superpowered beings with complete disregard for human life and law, to run free…unchecked in society, where their thoughtless attitudes put upstanding citizens, such as yourselves, at risk every day."

The student body sat on the edges of their seats, as they did every fall during the Dodson's speech. Brighton City had long been known for its anti-super attitude, and Donald and Delia were at the movement's forefront. They had, on numerous occasions, successfully convinced the local government to sign certain bills to ensure that any superpowered being could never make Brighton their home.

But, at the very back of the auditorium, a young man with unkempt blonde hair, mostly hidden beneath his red sweatshirt's hoodie sat as low as he could in his chair, waiting for the assembly to end, "Just a few more minutes," he said quietly under his breath, "just a few more minutes and I'll be free from this speech forever." Terry, while he would never have called himself a supporter of equal rights for supers, couldn't really see the justification for treating all supers as villains. But with four years of college at Stanford ahead of him, Terry wasn't about to cross the ideals of his classmates, let alone his parents, who would be paying his tuition, because of a difference in opinion. "Just wait it out," he said to himself, "then I can be away from all of this."

At the end of the speech questions were opened, but Terry had long since stopped paying attention. Every year it was the same, "What should we do if we think someone is a mutant?" "I think my friends support the Avengers, what should I do?"

But then a girl with dyed blue and black hair—and a Junior, Terry figured based on her seat in the middle of the auditorium—walked up to the microphone and asked a question that had probably never been raised, or even imagined by any student of Brighton High School since these assemblies began, "Have you ever considered that your fear mongering may play a part in young supers turning to crime or vigilantism?" Terry saw Donald's jaw drop at the suggestion, but before he could rebut the claim, the girl pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and continued, "For example, the bill that most recently got signed into law in our city states that no being with superpowers, be they extraterrestrial, mutant, or of any other origin, may attend publicly funded schools within Brighton." She lowered the paper and continued, "If you refuse these children an education, it makes sense that, without other options, they'd either fall to crime or seek refuge from certain groups."

Donald stared at the girl, lost for words and angry, so Delia stepped up to the microphone, "My girl, you are young. You have not yet seen the terror that supers bring down upon us. They have betrayed our trust, and until they earn our trust again, it is our duty, as adults, to protect our children."

"But—" The girl tried to counter, but Delia cut her off.

"Now, that is all the time we have for today, so until next year, goodbye and stay vigilant." Delia and Donald walked off stage as the student body, save for Terry and the junior erupted into applause.

After the assembly Terry tried to find the girl, but she had managed to slip from sight, which Terry found to be quite the feat considering her dyed hair in a school filled with straight laced, by the book rich kids. So, wanting to leave school after yet another boring assembly, Terry grabbed what books he needed from his locker, shoved them in his backpack, and made his way out the front of the school.

Terry was the only senior at his school without a car. It was almost a Brighton High School tradition for 17 year olds to get their first car for their birthday, but Terry's parents had instead offered him a free ride to any school he got accepted into, rather than the previously agreed upon, much closer to home MIT. So, wanting to ensure as much distance as he could between him and his parents, Terry accepted the deal and worked his way into Stanford. And while at first he had felt inconvenienced by not having a car, he had quickly grown accustomed to walking the streets of Brighton City, and didn't feel like he had a target painted on him whenever he went to some of the seedier districts of the city.

Another benefit was that it opened him up to a few of the smaller businesses on the edge of District 1 where he lived. It may have put him about an hour from home, but going to The Diner, as bland as the name sounded, was the highlight of his after school activities because apart from the amazing, albeit overly greasy food, The Diner gave him a bit of time every day to get away from his Brighton life.

"Yo, Terry," a loud, boisterous voice called, "Good to see yah," a young man, about Terry's age, ran up to him and gave him a friendly jab to the ribs with his elbow.

"Hey, Vik, what's up?" Terry had met Vik when he got lost in District 3, a district with a high crime rate that combined with its proximity to District 1 has made it something of a nightmare to the parents and students of Brighton High School. But Terry, in one of his early days of exploring the previous year had stumbled into the heart of the district and had nearly walked into the middle of some inter-gang dispute when Vik saved his neck.

Since then, Vik would, on occasion, meet up with Terry at The Diner. Terry would get a break from the high school socialites, and Vik would get a free meal.

"Not much," Vik said as he walked alongside Terry, "a few more riots since we last met up, so nothing out of the ordinary."

"Sounds rough. You handling everything okay?"

Vik shot Terry a toothy grin, "Please, riots are riots. People go crazy for an hour or so, the police come in, the riot falls apart and life goes on. As long as you stay out of the crossfire you're golden."

"And the gangs?" At this, Vik dropped his smile and cast his eyes downward, "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't—"

"No, it's fine," Vik cut him off, "it's just the reality of where I come from." Vik's dad had been a member of The Vultures, a gang formed in an attempt to take control of the district from the police. But about three years back, the group split between those who wanted to rule the city, and those who wanted to break away from the original ideal and help the police in any way they could. His father, a member of the latter, had unfortunately met his untimely demise during a drive-by, and since then there has been an all out war between the two sides: the Vultures and those who broke away, the hounds; given their names because of their supposed kneeling to the law.

The two continued in silence until they reached the diner, at which point Vik regained his normal cheery demeanor. "Come on," he said, "it's not safe for me to stay out too late, and I've been looking forward to this meal all day."

The two stepped inside and greeted the waitress who led them to a booth and handed them menus. However, without looking at the menu, Terry ordered two Philly cheese steaks and cokes for the two of them.

Terry took a glimpse at the news where they were talking about progress on the investigation of some fire on the outskirts of the city in which the owners of the house, a husband and wife in their early fifties, had perished. A picture of the girl, a bit younger that Terry with long red hair and freckles, popped up on the screen and he heard them mention that the teenaged daughter of the two was the main suspect, but before he could catch the next part, the waitress arrived with their food.

"I always wondered," Vik said as he chewed his first bite of the sandwich, "if we're in New Jersey, why do they still call it a Philly cheese steak? Shouldn't it be a Jersey Cheese steak, or a Brighton cheese steak or something?" Vik had always come up with strange things to talk about. Per usual, Terry, rather than humoring him with a suggestion, simply shrugged.

"You know," Vik said after downing another chunk of sandwich, "you take yourself too seriously sometimes. You're like those anti-mutant people on T.V, you know the 'They walk among you,' people," he said this is a zombie-like voice that make Terry crack a smile, "There we go. You see, funny is good, funny is healthy."

"Speaking of them, we had our assembly today. You know, the anti-super assembly?"

"Oh?" Vik raised an eyebrow. Normally Terry hated discussing these sorts of things.

"Yeah," Terry said as he put down his half eaten sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin, "you know the drill. Mutants this, aliens that. Nothing you don't see on the news or read in the papers."

"It's all bullshit," Vik said with a hint of poison in his voice.

"What would you know? Supers haven't been spotted anywhere near the county ever since Brighton City passed those laws."

"That's what you think," Vik said as he leaned in. Terry leaned in as well, so that Vik could drop his voice, "They only haven't been seen where the police want to look. There has been talk of a couple of supers hanging out in the sewers beneath my district. And there may even be one at my school."

"Mutant?"

"I don't know. But rumors have been going around about a girl who's been walking through walls to get out of school without teachers noticing her."

"If her goal is to be inconspicuous she doesn't seem to be doing so well," Terry folded his hands and rested his chin on top of them. "Are you sure these rumors are true? I mean, that just sounds like someone may be spreading rumors about that Shadowcat from the X-men or something."

"Why," Vik raised an eyebrow questioningly, "what's got you so interested in supers today, Terry? Normally you try to dodge the subject."

Terry thought for a moment, considering hiding the truth from Vik, but saw no reason to keep it a secret, "There was this girl at the assembly today. After the speakers opened up for questions she actually asked a question opposing the current state of things."

"So what," Vik said, unimpressed, "I don't know how things work in your neck of the woods, but in the real world people have their own opinions."

"Yeah, but not like this. Three thousand students, and not a single one thought that anything the speakers had to say was anything but gold. Except for her."

"And you didn't recognize her?"

"No, I don't think I'd ever seen her in my life. But in a school that large, that's not so strange."

"Are you sure she is actually a student at your school? Maybe she snuck in?"

"Vik, my school has more security than any other school in the country. To sneak in you'd have to…" An idea had struck Terry, stopping him in the middle of his sentence.

"You'd have to what?" Vik asked confused as to why Terry stopped.

"That girl you mentioned. You said she is able to walk through walls?"

"Hey, it's only rumors and speculation," Vik said as he leaned back, "Even if they are true, why is this so important? And why would she sneak into your school anyway? Sounds like a lame way to use a power."

"Look, it's like I said, everyone in my school thinks the exact same way. The students the parents….all of them follow the word of the Dods….of those guys like they were reciting the damn bible. If this girl is a super, why wouldn't she want to try to get people in my school to challenge the normal viewpoint?"

"You think it's a resistance movement?"

"What else?"

"Well," Vik said, "she could just be trolling."

"Maybe, but it's worth a look." Terry pulled out his wallet and left a twenty, "Keep the change," he shouted to the waitress as he rushed to the door.

"Wait," Vik said as he picked up Terry's unfinished sandwich and followed him outside. "What are you talking about," he said as Terry put something from his backpack into his pocket and checked his watch.

"It's only four o'clock. That means we have an hour to investigate."

"Investigate," Vik asked, "Investigate what?"

"This girl. Look, your school has a yearbook, right?"

"Yeah, but no one ever buys one. Too expensive. Only the library's got one."

"Well, then we'll just have to go to your library," Terry said as he started making his way to the border between the districts, "Come on, we don't have much time."

"Hold up," Vik said, "it's not safe, especially for you. Once five o'clock rolls around, the creeps come out, and I don't want your blood, or mine, splattered against the wall of a back alley."

"Then we'll just have to hurry? The faster we get the book, the sooner we can leave."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I go in alone," Terry said with a smirk, and he stared down his friend.

"Fine," Vik said defeated, "But you owe me big after this." He poked Terry hard in the chest.

"I always have," Terry said with a smile, and the two started running.

It took them about ten minutes to reach the school, but as Terry made his way up the stairs to the front entrance, Vik stopped him, "No," he said, "you aren't a student here. If you try to go in, security will stop you. We have to go through the gymnasium." Vik led Terry around the side of the school, through a heavily graffitied asphalt basketball court.

"There won't be any security here?" Terry asked.

"Not if we go through there," Vik pointed up to a window above a ledge two stories up, "We keep it unlocked so that we can get out if anything's going down. Can you climb?"

"Yeah, no problem," Terry said with confidence as he started climbing up the side of the building, using the spaces where bricks had been missing to hoist himself up to the ledge where he held himself up triumphantly. "Six years of summer camp," he bragged, though being just over six feet tall admittedly helped a bit, "Need any help?"

With a cocky smile, Vik took a step back before jumping toward the wall, catching his foot in some foothold, and pushed himself up to the ledge with another step and a quick jump, where he hung beside Terry. "Now would be the time to make a black joke," he said with a smile. "Seventeen years on the streets will teach you to get around quickly," he said as he pushed the window open and pulled himself through. "Now for the hard part," He extended his hand and helped Terry up.

"No kidding," Terry said as he looked down at the two-story drop, "That's quite the fall."

And with that, Vik dropped off from the window sill and landed cleanly below, "Just don't think too much, and don't force yourself against the impact. If you tense up, you'll screw up an ankle or something."

"Isn't there a latter or something?" Terry asked, as worry started settling in. Climbing up was one thing, but dropping down was not something Terry had thought he would have to do.

"Not if you want to make it home without a bullet in your gut."

"Okay," Terry said to himself, "You can do this." He took a deep breath and readied himself, but pulled out at the last second. "No, I can't do this."

"Well, you have two choices," Vik said, growing impatient, "You can either jump and try to make the landing, or you can go back the way you came, climb down, and never figure out if that girl you saw goes to this school.

"Well, it's not that important, I could just—"

"Terry," Vik raised his voice, "you already dragged me back to this school. I swear to God, if you don't jump down in the next ten seconds I'm coming up there and throwing you down myself."

For a moment Terry thought his friend was joking, but Vik's glare told him otherwise, so he pushed himself from the ledge. Terry felt as if the fall were happening in slow motion. The ground seemed to be approaching him much slower than he imagined, and for a moment he thought to himself, "Huh, this isn't that bad," but just then, his toes made contact with the floor, and everything flew back into real time, and he fell flat on his face.

"Not bad for your first time," Vik said as he helped Terry to his feet, "that'll bruise nicely."

"You don't say?" Terry said bitterly as his eye started throbbing.

"Don't worry. As far as I, and everyone who asks you about it is concerned, you got that soon to be shiner protecting some poor damsel in distress. Now," Vik said with a clap of his hands, "to the library."

By the time they made it to the library, half an hour had already passed, "Hey Vik, when you say the creeps come out at five, you didn't mean that literally, did you?"

"No, I did. It's like clockwork. I have no idea why, but it's just the way it is. One second," Vik ran to the back of the library and quickly returned with a book in hand, "This year's yearbook, hot off the press," he tossed it to Terry who walked over to a desk and sat down and started flipping through the freshman pages, thankful that they were in color.

"Do you have any idea what year she is in?" Vik asked.

"No clue," Terry said, "She was sitting with the junior class, but if she doesn't go to my school, there's no way of knowing how old she actually is."

"Well, describe her. Maybe I can help you out."

Terry stopped going through the book and thought for a moment, "Dyed blue and black hair, skinny."

"Congratulations, you've just described half of the white girls in this school. Anything else?"

Terry thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind, so he shook his head.

"Height, race, boob size?"

"Medium height," Terry said unsure, "Asian, I guess." He stopped there, but Vik gave him a look, so he answered the last question, "I don't know, B-cups?"

"Junior year."

"What, you know her by that?" Terry knew that Vik was always a little perverse when it came to how he recognized a girl, but this was toeing the line between creepy and practical.

"I wouldn't know her name, but I think I know who you're talking about. Junior year," he repeated, and Terry turned to the class. It took him a while, but he managed to find the girl: blue hair and everything.

"Haruko Nakamura," Terry said.

"Oh the Chinese girl, I knew I recognized her."

"She's Japanese," Terry corrected him.

"Chinese, Japanese, whatever," Vik picked up Terry's wrist and looked at his watch, "Look, we've got about 15 minutes to bolt out of here as fast as we can, so let's shift it." He started pulling Terry up.

"Hold on, does your school have a copy machine or anything?"

Vik let out an annoyed grunt and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. He flicked the knife open and cut the picture out of the book and flicked it toward Terry, who stuck it in his wallet. "There's your copy, now move it." He pulled hard on Terry, forcing him to his feet, and the two sprinted out the front gate, leaving the lone security guard in the dust. Though before he was out of sight, Terry could have sworn he was far more heavily armed than a school security guard should have been.

"Hey, slow down Vik," Terry said as he struggled to keep up. He wrenched his wrist free and slowed down to a more comfortable pace.

"We can't slow down." Vik said, growing more and more frantic.

"Relax, what's the worst that can happen if it takes us five extra minutes?" Terry stopped in his tracks, causing Vik to skid to a halt.

"Relax?" Vik said angrily as he marched toward Terry and grabbed him by the collar, "this isn't some game, Terry. This is your life that's on the line, and if I don't get you out of here your blood is gonna be on my hands, and I am not gonna let that happen." He turned to the side, "I should never have brought you here," he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

"As long as we avoid the crowd we should be fine though, shouldn't we? Besides, I can see District 1 from here, if we just—" The last thing Terry saw was Vik's fist coming toward his face.

When he woke up he was propped up against The Diner with a massive headache and his left eye hurting far worse than it had when he fell on it earlier. He looked at his watch, "6 o'clock," he said, "shit, I need to get home," he stood up, but the pain in his head made his vision blur and he nearly fell to the ground, but with the aid of the wall he steadied himself and slowly started his trek home.

He didn't make it far before he heard groaning coming from an alleyway. He considered ignoring it and going on his way, but a second, louder groan told him that whomever this was really needed help, "Hello?" he said sheepishly down the alley, but he got no reply, "Are you okay?" he said slightly louder, yet he heard no response.

He bit his lip, and tried convincing himself that he should just walk away, but as much as he wanted to just get home, he couldn't just leave whoever was alone in an alley, so he gulped down the lump in his throat and started walking toward the voice.

He found her tucked behind a dumpster, wrapped in a sheet, and by the looks of it nothing else. Moreover, her face and shoulders, the only parts of her body he could see, were covered in bruises, and sweat was pouring down her face. He reached out a hand to feel her forehead to see if she had a fever, but she whimpered, and tried to push him away with her feet, but did not have the strength to resist him, "It's okay," he said in a calm voice, "I'm not going to hurt you," he placed his hand on her forehead, "my god, you're burning up. I'm going to call for help okay?"

Terry pulled out his cell phone and was about to call for help, when he felt something cold and sharp against the side of his neck, "Make that call, and it'll be the last thing you do."

Terry dropped his phone and out of the corner of his eye saw two men, one black, one white, wearing black hoodies. The white man had a knife to his throat and the black man stood a few feet back, though Terry was unable to see exactly what he was doing, but whatever it was, he didn't want to be around to find out. So, when the white man turned his head to ask, "What should I do with the boy?" Terry reached into his pocket and pulled out a rectangular gadget, about the size of a flash drive, pressed the two metal prongs at the end into the white man, and pressed the button on the top, sending an electric current through whatever part of his body he made contact with. The man screamed in pain before Terry threw his head back into the man's knows with a solid crunch, knocking the man unconscious and making Terry see double.

"Kid," the black man said calmly as he reached into his pocket, "I'd stop if I were you."

But Terry, determined not to let these men do whatever they intended to him or the girl, charged at him and threw the hardest punch he could muster.

He missed.

He had aimed for the man's face, but ended up hitting nothing but air, and the man brought his knee swiftly up into Terry's stomach, dropping him straight to the ground. Terry had never punched anyone before, and this was exactly why.

Terry pushed himself off the ground, but froze when he heard a click by his ear, "Kid, if you know what's best, stay down." He couldn't move. After all the courage he had worked up to do what he had just done, he couldn't move a muscle. "Now I'm sorry about this. But you've seen my face. And I can't let you report me to the authorities."

Terry closed his eyes and felt tears starting to well up in his eyes. 'Stupid' he thought, 'how could you have been so stupid? You should have just walked away, why didn't you just walk away?'

He grit his teeth, preparing for the worst, when suddenly he felt as if the temperature has risen to a blazing heat. "NOOO!" he heard a girl scream, and he looked up to see the girl, her body covered in flames, walking toward him and the man.

"Stay back," the man said as he pushed the gun harder against Terry's head, "I mean it." There was only fear in his voice.

The girl looked at Terry and said, "Duck," and he nearly didn't react in time. She threw a jet of flame at the man, engulfing him in fire, and Terry started to pull away from his grip, but not before a shot went off and caught him in the shoulder.

"FUCK" he screamed out as the man fell to the ground as nothing more than a burnt husk, "he shot me." Terry always thought that being shot be painful, but not like this. The bullet had gone clean throw his left shoulder, and he could feel the blood going down both his chest and his back.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked as he flames subsided. Sometime in the heat of everything she had fallen to the ground, likely due to her state when he found her.

"Okay? He fucking shot me, how am I…." he looked up at the girl and was nearly left speechless, "you…you…you."

"What?" she said angrily, and her skin started turning red.

"You're that girl. On the news. You're the suspect in the death of your parents," he remembered that red hair, those freckles. Yet, he found it hard to believe that this girl who had just saved his life could do such a thing.

"Look, as much as I'd love detailing my life's story, could you help me get Mr. Knife-guy's clothes off?"

"…what?" Terry stared at the girl, unable to comprehend why she needed to do such a thing, until he realized that she was standing before him completely naked. "Oh…oh my," he looked away, and his face turned a shade of red that probably stood out more than the girl did just a moment ago.

"Thanks for the chivalry, but it's not needed," she started pulling the shoes off of the man, "When your body gets covered in fire every time you get scared or angry, you learn to be comfortable in the buff," she tossed the first shoe aside and looked back, "Besides I'm sure it's nothing you haven't seen before."

Terry looked down at his feet, ashamed, "Not exactly."

"What?" she exclaimed, "really…." She shrugged, "Well, then, I hope you enjoyed your first show." She tossed the second shoe aside and undid the man's pants, "but please, can you help me out here? I'm not going to draw more attention to myself by walking you to the clinic butt naked, and I kind of melted your phone," she pointed toward a black spot on the pavement what he could only assume was his phone, "so can you please lift him up while I pull his pants off?"

He nodded and made his way toward her, doing his best not to see anything he shouldn't, but as he lifted the man, a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder, and he fell to the ground.

"Hey, are you okay?" She asked as Terry pushed himself off the ground with his good arm and noticed for the first time how skinny she was; as if she hadn't eaten anything recently. Beneath the bruises on her face, he even could see how sunken her eyes had become.

"I'm fine," he said, "let's just get this done with." He shoved his good arm beneath the man's back and lifted as hard as he could and the girl pulled his pants off in one swift motion. She then layed the jeans aside and wrestled the hoodie off of him.

She threw on the hoodie and jeans, which thankfully was worn with a belt, and tried to stand up, but fell back to the ground and started coughing up blood.

Afraid of her condition, Terry steadied her, "Listen," he said as he threw her arm over his shoulder and hoisted her up, "I'm calling the hospital."

"No…" she protested weakly, but by this point she was in no condition to fight back.

"Look, we both need to get to a doctor. So here's what happened…"

Six hours later, Terry and the girl, both bandaged up, fed, and otherwise cared for sat together on the hospital bed while Detective Mare paced back and forth in front of them, "So let me get this straight," he said as he turned to face the two, "You, Claire, were with your family last Saturday when two men, one African American, the other Caucasian broke into your home?" Claire nodded, "Your father pulled out his shotgun, and it was then that the Caucasian used his powers and killed him, your mother, and then burned your house down."

"Yes," she said nervously and she gripped her hands tightly to stop herself from shaking.

"But you managed to escape, and the two were hunting you down, which is where you come in Terry. You saw the two corner her in an alley after your daily trip to the Diner? Why didn't you just call the police?"

Terry straightened up and added to the fabrication, "Well, I had lost my phone, so I was going back to the diner to see if I had left it there. I figured that by the time I got there it would be too late."

"Which is how you got so beaten up?" Terry nodded, "I see. So what happened next?"

"Well, I charged the African American with this," Terry held up his makeshift Taser, to which the detective raised an eyebrow quizzically, "It's a small Taser I made for emergencies. I shocked him, and then when the other guy tried to blast me, he missed and hit his friend."

"And then I tackled the guy before he could try to hit him again," Claire said.

"And that didn't work?"

Terry and Claire looked down, "No," Claire said, "he tried to attack again, but he must have lost his focus or something because the next thing I knew, he was covered in flames and he was screaming." A couple of tears rolled down her cheek, and Terry marveled at her ability to pull this off, but then realized that she had just killed two people and it may not be an act.

"Very well," Detective Mare said as he turned toward the door, "There doesn't seem to be much left to discuss here, but I may be in touch in the next few days, so don't leave town." He opened the door and was about to leave when he looked over his shoulder and said, "Terry, you did a brave thing. But don't let it get to your head." He then walked out the door and closed it behind him, leaving the two battered teenagers to themselves.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Claire let out a laugh, "Man," she nudged him on his arm, which was help in a sling, that sent a small jolt of pain through his shoulder, "that was close, wasn't it? But I'm glad it's all over."

"How can you be so cheerful?"

"Because, we made it out alive, Terry."

"But two people are dead. Because of us," Terry felt a heaviness in his chest that he couldn't explain. Sure, the two men had tried to kill them, but seeing them die had unnerved him. Terry knew that this next question was going to be hard, and he was confident it wouldn't end well for him, but he had to ask it, "What happened at your house?"

And her smile faded, "It wasn't my fault."

"But what happened?"

"Tonight, okay? I'll explain everything tonight when we are out of this hospital."

It wasn't the answer he was hoping for, but he figured that it was better than nothing, so he accepted it, "Where will you stay?" Terry asked.

The door opened and a man said, "She's going to stay with us before she settles things tomorrow."

Terry and Claire turned to the door where Donald and Delia Dodson stood, exhausted after a night of worrying about their son.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Playing the Cards

After the hellish experience the previous night, not to mention Claire's weeklong stint of homelessness, Terry and Claire had passed out within seconds of reaching their rooms. And though Terry had hoped to sleep all the way through the night, his parents had woken him up to question him on the previous night.

"I'm sorry," he said before they could even start asking him questions, "I know it was stupid, but I couldn't just leave her there, and—"

"Relax, son," Donald said as he laid one large hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder, "we understand why you did what you did."

"You were very brave," Delia continued, "not many people would have had the bravery or the selflessness to do what you did for that girl, especially against a super." Terry felt his heart race in his chest. "We just wanted to tell you about how proud we were."

"But also," his father interjected, "we wanted to make sure that, as noble as your actions were, you won't make a habit out of them."

"I promise," he said, though he didn't know how sincere he was being. And with that his parents let him return to bed, though as tired as he was he couldn't sleep. He simply laid there in the dark of his bedroom, filled with gadgets that he had been tinkering with since he was in elementary school, and let his mind attempt to sort out everything that he had been through.

But nothing seemed right. 'Why me,' he thought, 'of all the people she could have run into, why did it have to be the son of Donald and Delia Dodson?'

He looked over at his bedside table at the bottle of painkillers the doctor had given him. His arm had been killing him since he got home, and they would surely put him back to sleep, but he didn't want to risk trying to recount the night to his parents, or worse, the police, while medicated, so he left them untouched. Instead, he turned on the lamp beside him, reached for his wallet, and pulled out the yearbook photo of Haruko Nakamura.

'It all started with this girl,' he thought as he looked at the snarky expression she shot the camera, 'If this girl hadn't showed up, I wouldn't be in this mess.' He tucked the photo back into his wallet, which he then deposited back on his nightstand. He turned the lamp off and closed his eyes.

He was woken up at around 2 o'clock in the morning by Claire who, unlike him, had actually remembered that she promised to explain a few things to him that night. So he groggily sat up and she took a seat at the foot of his bed.

"So….you're a Dodson," the statement lingered uncomfortably in the air, with neither adolescent willing to comment on it any further. "Well, based on your tolerance…" the word felt sour in her mouth, but she didn't know what else to say, "of my condition, I think it's safe to assume you aren't exactly like your parents."

"Larger leaps have been made."

"So I hope you understand that when I say your parents had a role in what happened to me a week ago, I'm not simply pointing the finger."

Terry nodded his head. She was a super, and his parents were two of the biggest anti-super activists in the country. He had no doubt that the policies they helped put into place, not to mention the fear they have spread, had ruined more than a handful of lives.

"Long story short," Claire continued, "I was born in District 1, and when I was seven my powers started emerging, so, due to the recent wave of anti-super laws, my parents decided to move us outside of the city where we could hopefully be safe. But it wasn't long before a neighbor caught me accidently releasing my powers. We became targeted by hate groups, but because we were outside of Brighton jurisdiction, they couldn't touch us, and most people were too afraid to confront us directly, so we continued with our lives."

She took a deep breath and straightened up, "But then a week ago, that all changed. You see, under normal circumstances I can control my power. I practiced control every day since that neighbor saw me so that such a thing would never happen again. But then this man, a drunk, broke into our house with a shotgun. He killed my parents, and then he attacked me. I did my best to hold my power back, but the anger just built up until I couldn't hold on, and I burst."

"But the news didn't mention anything about another man, or about your parents being shot."

"The town hated us, Terry. When I came to the next day, they had already started clearing the man's body from the wreckage. I knew then that I had to run. So a week passed. I hid from the authorities as best I could. And then I ran into you." Tears started rolling down her cheeks.

Terry reached forward, attempting to console her, but she pulled away from his touch, "It's okay," he said, "I know you didn't mean it," he put his right hand on her shoulder.

"If I hadn't been born a mutant, or if I just hadn't been born at all, my parents would still be alive."

"You can't blame yourself," Terry pulled her in and hugged her, ignoring the pain it shot through his shoulder, "We all makes mistakes and we all have regrets, but if you start blaming yourself for things you couldn't control, it will drive you mad."

"I just wish for once I was normal," she said as her tears dripped onto his bare shoulder, "Everything about me is just wrong," she pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes, "I just want to be a normal girl," she caressed his cheek with her hand, "I want to be able to live without doubts, without lying to myself. I just want to feel the way a normal girl does," she closed her eyes, leaned forward, and kissed Terry on the lips.

He got over the initial shock of the kiss in a heartbeat. He placed his right hand behind her neck and pulled her in closer. After what felt like an eternity to Terry—an eternity of warmth and, for the first time in his life, peace—Claire joined him under the sheets, and she fell asleep in his arms, held tightly to his bare chest.

When Terry woke up, he found himself alone in his bed. He pulled the shade on his window aside and looked at the driveway, thankful that his parents had already left for work, as it meant he wouldn't have to explain why Claire had spent the night in his bed. "Crap," he said under his breath as the memory of the previous night came rushing in, "what were you thinking Terry?" he held his head in his hands and let out a frustrated sigh, "you're going to regret this."

He looked at his watch, "Nine-fifteen," he read out loud. He hadn't slept in on a school day since his Freshman year, so it felt odd being home, but after the night he had, he wasn't going to complain. He stretched his arms wide, a mistake as it send a wave of pain down his left arm, though he noticed it wasn't as bad as the night before. So, ready to start his day, he jumped out of bed, threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, and walked downstairs into the kitchen.

The first thing he noticed was a note on the fridge that said, "Honey, we'll be home from the conference in three days. Here's the address for Claire. Make sure to get there by noon. Love, Mom."

'Leave it to my parents to leave their son on his own after getting shot," Terry thought to himself, but being used to his parents comings and goings, he quickly dropped it. He also had no idea what the address was for, but he figured it must have something to do with Claire finding a place to stay, so he pulled the carton of milk from the fridge and a box of cereal from the cupboard and ate what he considered to be the most delicious bowl of cheerios ever poured.

"Mind pouring me a bowl, champ?" Claire said as she stepped into the kitchen wearing (apparently) nothing but the sweatshirt she had stolen from the thug in the alley. Her long red hair still damp from a shower and her skin was quite red, though Terry was unsure if it was because of her powers or the shower, "Also, you have no idea how nice a shower feels after a week on the streets," she walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, letting her damp her brush the side of his neck, causing him to flinch. "I'm sorry," she quickly pulled away, "did I press against your wound?"

"No, it's not that," Terry said, calming himself as he stood up and set out a bowl and spoon for Claire, "I'm just not used to, well, touching." Terry was mentally hitting himself for the lame explanation.

"You seemed fine last night," Claire narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the boy, "What's really the problem, Terry?" She spat out his name accusingly, as if he had done something wrong.

"Well, it's not touching per se," Terry wracked his brains for the right words to get him out of this sticky situation, "It's just…last night it was intimate….there was emotion and I felt connected," 'somehow,' he added in his thoughts, "It's just the playfulness that makes me feel uncomfortable."

Claire stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter so hard that she had to use the table to steady herself, "Let me get this straight. You can charge a thug, lie to a detective, and kiss a girl you can literally turn you into ash, and it's flirting that you can't handle?"

"Hey, I can't help it." Terry cast his eyes downward, "Everything's been happening so fast these past few days."

"You're adorable," she said and she starting walking out of the kitchen, "I'll be back down to eat son. I'm just gonna throw on some pants so my little Terrance doesn't blush himself to death."

"Very funny," he shot back sardonically as Claire disappeared up the stairs. "Besides," he said under his breath, "Why did you kiss me last night?"

Twenty minutes later, Claire walked back into the kitchen, her hair dried, wearing a nice business suit and pencil skirt that nearly made Terry coke on his food. "So," she said, "what do you think?"

"I…I think you've lost your mind. Why are you wearing my mother's nice clothes?"

Claire folded her arms angrily and looked away from Terry, "Why, Claire," she said in a mocking voice, "you look lovely," she shifted her posture so that she now held her hands together in front of her, "Why thank you, Terry," She said in a notably more feminine voice.

Claire refolded her arms and looked Terry straight in the eye, sending a child up the boy's spine, "For your information, they were left out for me. You're mom's like, a foot shorter than me, do you really think I'd fit in anything aside from her sweatpants?" She held an arm out and looked at the sleeve, "I think she had them expressed or something. I saw them in the guest room after my shower."

Terry's eyes shot open, "You found them in your room?"

"Yeah," she answered, unsure about why he sounded so nervous.

"In the guest room….on your bed?"

"Yes, Terry, is that a problem?"

"A bed in which you were supposed to be sleeping last night?"

The two stared at each other with terrified looks on their faces before Claire shrugged, "Meh, if it were going to be an issue, they'd have brought it up already."

Terry, shocked at the girl's calmness, couldn't think of a response, and instead opted to drop the subject, "So then, what are they for?"

"Probably for visiting the lawyer," she pulled the note off the fridge and quickly memorized the address before dropping it on the table.

"Lawyer," Terry shot out of his chair, "for what?" his imagination went rampant, 'have we been caught? Is Detective Mare keeping an eye on us?'

"Relax, it's just about my parents' will. I expect you would want to come along?"

"For what?" Terry didn't feel like he needed to be involved. He never knew her parents, so why should he be present?

Claire folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, "You know, for a smart guy, you really are dense. All morning I've been trying to be a good girlfriend, but you can't even come along to support me."

"Girlfriend?" Terry raised his voice, "I barely know you. The other night you just popped into my life, and then you kiss me, and you think that makes us a couple?"

Claire slapped him hard, leaving a stinging sensation in his cheek, "I do," she said, as tears welled up in her eyes, "I don't care if it means I'm clingy. I spent my entire life being hated and feared by everyone around me. You're the first person I've met who, despite what I am, hasn't pushed me away. But if that's not what you want, I'm not going to force you into anything."

Terry thought for a moment. Aside from Vik, he had never had friends, let alone a girlfriend. And he couldn't deny that he felt something last night when she kissed him, "Claire," he said and he clenched his fists, "I can't do it."

He couldn't look her in the eye, but he knew the look she must be giving her, and he could feel the heat beginning to emanate from her. Terry heard her choke back a cry before she rushed out the door.

Terry collapsed into the chair, doing everything he could not to cry as well. "I'm sorry, Claire," he said to himself, "but I just can't do it."

Lost in a mixture of anger, frustration, and guilt, Terry did the one thing that, since he was a child, would always clear his mind. He built things.

His father, before turning to law, was working on an engineering degree from MIT, so in their basement he had built a small workshop. But ever since Donald joined the anti-super crusade, he hadn't had time to tinker, so he left Terry to his own devices. Teaching him to handle some of the more dangerous tools, but otherwise letting his son figure things out on his own.

First things first, Terry needed to build a new Taser. He had originally built the things in the sixth grade to keep bullies off his back, but had since grown accustomed to always keeping one in his pocket, just in case. However, the other night showed that if he really wanted to protect himself, he would need to give it a little more kick. So Terry ditched the smaller chassis, and pulled out a black piece of plastic about the size of a deck of cards, gathered the necessary electrical components and his soldering iron, and set to work.

However, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his gadget, he couldn't get his mind off of the argument he just had and it wasn't long before Terry, like many before him, learned that hot metal and straying thoughts don't mix. Whilst attempting to solder two wires together, he accidently jabbed himself on his left thumb.

Under normal circumstances he'd wince, deal with the pain, and move on, but Terry figured he had been through enough crap that day, "Piece of shit," he shouted, though to be honest, he didn't know what or who the remark was directed at, before turning around and chucking the soldering iron against the concrete wall, where it hit with a soft thud.

He turned around and started cleaning up his materials, figuring he'd work on the Taser later, when something struck him, "That wall's nothing but concrete." He turned and walked over to the iron, which lay undamaged on the ground, and then looked at the point that it impacted against the wall. It looked just like the rest of the workshop's walls, hard and gray, but when Terry felt it he noticed, "it's wood," he took a step back, "painted wood….but why….."

Terry remembered when the basement was redone. He had just turned 12 and his dad was complaining about the cost of fixing the walls, so he fired the worker and did it himself. But why would he not do the whole wall?

Terry weighed curiosity against the possibility of getting in trouble with his parents. 'Though', he reasoned, 'if I break this wall, fixing it wouldn't be too much of a problem,' he took a step back and then quickly retrieved a sledge hammer from the wall where his father's many tools were placed. "All right," he said out loud as he readied his grip, "here goes nothing," he pulled back and swung forward with as much force as he could, but the second the hammer made contact with the wall, he dropped the hammer in pain and felt warm blood trickling from his left shoulder.

"Fuck," he exclaimed, both at the pain and the fact that he barely managed to put a dent in the wall. "Fine," he walked back to the wall and exchanged the sledge hammer for a crow bar. One by one, he pried the wooden boards from the wall, a tough feat with only one good arm to work with.

After the first few boards he could see that behind the wall lay a dark corridor, but he would need a flashlight to see any further than the first few feet, so after prying the last of the boards away, he ran upstairs to grab the emergency flashlight from the kitchen, and shone it down the corridor. Terry would have to duck to walk through it, a fact that confused him considering his dad stood about a full head taller than he, so he carefully bent down and slowly started making his way, following the small circle of light cast by his flashlight.

Brown and Backen Legal Firm

1:30 PM

Claire, still frustrated with Terry, was sitting across from the lawyer while he shoved paper after paper in front of her for her to sign so that she could collect her inheritance, which, due to the fire consisted solely of the plot of land where her burnt down house was, her family's bank accounts, and a key to a safety deposit box.

"And, Ms. Cushing, that is everything," the lawyer said as he filed away the papers she signed, "By tomorrow you will have access to your parents' accounts and you can start rebuilding," he stuck out his hand.

Claire had to restrain herself from punching him, 'What do you think I've been trying to do all this time,' she wanted to say, but not wanting to create a scene, she accepted the handshake and walked out of the building, folder under her arm and no clue about what to do next, when possibly the most unwelcome voice called out to her.

"Claire Cushing," the man called out.

She swore under her breath and turned to face the man, "Yes, Detective," she said with a bitter tone as Detective Mare walked up to her, "how can I help you?"

"That's up to you," he stopped in front of the girl, "I simply wished to talk with you."

"About what?" she glared at him, but he did nothing but smile back.

"Donald and Delia Dodson, Terry's parents. I was wondering if you had some time to discuss them."

"Why should I?" Claire shot at him, "They gave me a place to say until all of this crap blows over. Why should I tell you anything about them?"

"I'm not looking for anything incriminating here. I just want to know where they ran off to this morning."

"Don't know. Like I'd tell you if I did anyway."

"I thought as much," the detective said with a sigh, "just make sure to watch yourself, Claire Cushing. You never know what people have up their sleeves."

As the detective walked away from Claire, she shot him a look and wondered, 'Just what are you playing at?'

Dodson House

1:45 PM

Terry reached the end of the tunnel and, to his amazement, found a winding staircase that led straight down to another sublevel. He bit his lip and looked back down the fifty-foot corridor toward the tiny speck of light where he just came from, and considered going back and pretending like this never happened. But he had seen the blueprints for this house. His dad had shown them to Terry himself, and not once did he find any mention of a second sublevel.

So, led by curiosity, Terry made his way down the stairs into the blackness below. Before he even reached the last step, Terry could tell there was something odd about this room. It was oddly warm, and he could hear the faint buzzing of electricity around him. And as he stepped off the metal staircase, onto the concrete floor, the room was flooded with a bright light that stung Terry's eyes while they attempted to adjust after climbing through the darkness.

Once his eyes focused, and he saw what awaited in the room, he knew that he had made a terrible mistake. This was no longer about some stupid wall that he tore down. Because Terry knew that, whatever it was that he had stumbled upon, it was not something that he was ever supposed to find.


End file.
